


Chloroform

by Lady Adain (pocketTherapist)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Bastardized Medical Procedures, M/M, Seriously Kids Not At Home, Unsafe Stupid Things, or ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketTherapist/pseuds/Lady%20Adain
Summary: “Geta-boushi. I know you’re probably busy with important things, but… If I wanted some chloroform, where would I get it? Hypothetically.”





	Chloroform

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Chloroforme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922297) by [Himeneka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himeneka/pseuds/Himeneka)



> This was thrown together far too haphazardly. I can only apologize for the quality.

Kisuke is struggling through inventory when the phone rings--not the one to the shop, but his  _ personal _ one. He pauses digging through the box of sweets and electronics long enough to pull out the mobile and press it to his ear.    
  
“Urahara Kisuke.”

 

The voice on the other end is not anyone he’d expected--not that he could ever have forgotten it. 

 

“Geta-boushi. I know you’re probably busy with important things, but… If I wanted some chloroform, where would I get it? Hypothetically.”

 

Kisuke sits back on his heels and tries to process this. He shouldn’t be surprised, but Kurosaki Ichigo has a habit of blindsiding even those who know him best. Or  _ knew _ him, really. It’s been well over a year since the last of the boy’s powers had faded and Isshin had  _ gently suggested _ that it would be better for Ichigo if Kisuke remained out of his life. 

 

Kisuke hadn’t even argued, not really. Of  _ course _ it would be better if Kisuke just quietly faded away. So he had done precisely that, ignoring the ache in his chest and turning his thoughts toward more suitable pursuits, allowing the boy he’d dragged into a war to return to a normal life. 

 

And now Ichigo is contacting him, requesting chloroform, of all things. That doesn’t sound much like a “normal life” to Kisuke. 

 

He sits back on his heels, scrubbing a hand over his face. He  _ has _ chloroform, of course; it’s a little easier to get than some of the more modern anesthetics, and Kisuke might be a captain-class shinigami but even he wouldn’t risk incurring Ryuuken’s wrath by raiding the hospital. 

 

It’s not even that he questions  _ why _ Ichigo wants it, it’s just… the sudden contact has shaken him in a way few things do. Nevertheless, he rises to his feet and heads back towards his  _ other _ storage room, the one warded by kido and definitively not for items intended for resale. 

 

“Where are you? I presume you need it immediately.”

 

There’s a sheepish half-laugh from the other end of the line. 

 

“Yeah, if you can spare the time.”

 

As if Kisuke  _ wouldn’t _ drop everything and come running if he’d heard a hint that Ichigo would desire his presence. He’s always been too far gone for anyone showing him simple kindness, even if he knows that it’s not personal, it’s not for  _ him _ , it’s just who Ichigo is. 

  
  


By the time Kisuke makes it to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city--in an opposite direction from the Visored’s former hideout, he notes--any sense of amusement from Ichigo has faded, to be replaced by a slowly-growing urgency that quickens Kisuke’s steps with something that might be haste. 

 

For all the scenarios running through his head, though, he hadn’t expected Ichigo to have set up a makeshift surgical center smack in the middle of the vast room. There’s an unnecessarily brilliant lamp, accompanied by a simple metal table and a wheeled chair that’s been repurposed as an instrument tray. 

 

There’s also a mostly unconscious man on the table, but since he’s not a threat, Kisuke disregards him in favor of hurrying over to where Ichigo is scrubbing down a set of tools that he probably shouldn’t have. The teenager looks up and offers him a quicksilver smile of welcome, unknowing or uncaring of the effect it has on the older man. Inwardly Kisuke is scrutinizing Ichigo, comparing him to the last time he’d seen him, exhausted and sorrowful, but quietly accepting of his own sacrifice. He’s not lost muscle mass, though, and his hair is grown out enough to pull back into a low tail. He looks good, actually--less burdened and tired. Maybe Isshin was right, for once. 

 

With that in mind, he ducks his head in greeting and sets the small bottle of anaesthetic down in front of Ichigo, taking two steps back, intent on removing himself despite what feels like fishhooks in his chest, drawing him forward regardless. 

 

Ichigo doesn’t take his eyes off him, that little smile still quirking his lips. 

 

“Thanks, geta-boushi. How much do I owe you?”

 

The fan is out almost before Kisuke registers it, waving Ichigo off as the teenager reaches for a pocket. 

 

“No, no payment is necessary, Kurosaki-kun. It is the  _ least _ of what we… of what  _ I _ can do for you.”

 

The statement comes out with perhaps a little more sincerity than he had intended, but it’s worth it for the way Ichigo’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush a little. Then the redhead shakes himself and snatches up the vial of chloroform, turning back towards the table. Kisuke trails after him, drawn in his wake in spite of himself, and his next words tumble forth entirely without his consent.

 

“Is there any way this humble shopkeeper can assist you, Kurosaki-kun?” 

 

Ichigo glances at him, a little distractedly, and Kisuke does his best to  _ radiate _ sincerity and helpfulness. It seems to work well enough, and Ichigo gifts him with another quicksilver smile as he nods and turns back to his patient. 

 

“Go wash up and then come cut the cloth away from the wound. The bullet is still in his shoulder; I think it’s probably lodged against the scapula. I would ordinarily just leave it there, but it’s too close to the suprascapular nerve for me to be really comfortable, and it’s relatively shallow. I think it’ll heal better if I take it out.”

 

Kisuke obeys without question, amusement tugging at his lips as he watches Ichigo drop into the intense focus he’s only seen previously utilized in combat. In short order, he’s carefully (more or less) measuring the man’s vitals and waving the bottle of chloroform in front of his nose if he looks like he’s waking up.

 

Ichigo had given him a stern look when he suggested simply hitting the man over the head, so that’s probably even  _ less  _ safe than what they’re doing now. 

 

God, Ryuuken would kill them both if he knew what a bastardization they were making of modern medicine. 

 

By the time everything has been sanitized for the thousandth time and the last suture has been tied off, Kisuke has an entirely new respect for Ichigo’s determinedly steady hands and calm demeanor. Assassinations are one thing, but putting someone back together is a different matter entirely. 

 

Honestly, Ichigo’s quiet orders and steadfast focus remind Kisuke more of Unohana than is really comfortable. He can’t decide if it’s more terrifying or attractive. 

 

Finally, everything is done and Ichigo is content to relax, leaning against a wall and resting his forearms between his knees, radiating a sense of tired satisfaction. Kisuke joins him, casting about for something, anything, to explain himself or his absence or to apologize, but as soon as he opens his mouth--no doubt to stutter something idiotic--Ichigo pins him with a  _ look _ , and Kisuke stills. Everything he could say seems somehow inadequate in the face of such an expression. 

 

Ichigo looks away, tilting his head back against the wall. 

 

“You know, right afterwards, I tried to come by and see you. I thought, I don’t know, I guess that Rukia would still be there or something, and that we could at least talk. And instead, it was just...nothing. You weren’t even there; I don’t know why. But I guess after that I just realized that I needed to suck it up and handle it, y’know, move on?”

 

Kisuke frowns. He hadn’t realized Ichigo had come by at all, had thought their savior was trying to make a clean break from them. He’s seen Chad and Orihime and even Uyruu occasionally, since, so he’d thought that Ichigo had chosen not to join them. Looking at the teen now, though, Kisuke suspects that this hadn’t quite been the case. 

 

The thought of Ichigo trying to readjust to civilian life after fighting a war, alone, makes something in Kisuke’s chest pull uncomfortably tight, fluttering helplessly. How is he supposed to  _ fix _ this? 

 

Ichigo must sense his silent panic, because Kisuke is being  _ looked _ at again. He can’t hold Ichigo’s gaze, doesn’t even try, just drops his head to allow his hat to shade his eyes. Maybe Ichigo will see it for the apology he can’t voice. 

 

“It was a bit of a rough time, for a while. After so long fighting, going back to doing nothing wasn’t really… I couldn’t do it. So I just found fights, I guess. And then once I put a guy’s shoulder back in, afterwards, and next thing I know I have a bunch of idiots asking me to put them back together. No idea what  _ this _ one was doing to get shot, but I’m definitely gonna yell at him.”

 

Kisuke laughs at that, imagining Ichigo putting his own twist on Unohana’s serenity, and he’s not disappointed. The man is given a  _ stern _ talking to, and seems almost paler from facing down a quietly furious Ichigo than from blood loss. Ichigo sends him off with a colorful mix of invectives, wound care instructions, insults, and dietary ideas to help him replenish his reserves. 

 

He should leave now, return to his shop and to his silence and to being  _ alone _ , but standing here, helping Ichigo clean and disinfect the place (again), their shoulders brushing occasionally...it feels  _ right _ . The silence is comfortable--he doesn’t need to fumble for words or put up facades or pretend to be something other than the monster he is. Ichigo has always easily accepted those he counts friends, and Kisuke hopes (prays) that he also is counted in that circle. 

 

With a careful breath, he makes another offer. 

 

“Would Kurosaki-kun like to come back to the shop for tea?”

 

The answering smile Ichigo gives him is blinding, breathtaking in its brilliance, and Kisuke wants nothing more than to spend his life chasing it. 


End file.
